


Eönwë's grief

by Adventurewraith



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aman (Tolkien), Eönwe is sad, Fea, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manwë is kind, Post-War of Wrath, Taniquetil, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:26:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventurewraith/pseuds/Adventurewraith
Summary: Eönwe is home after the War of Wrath and is unable to deal with the memories and grief. Manwë comforts him. Kind of fluffy. Rated for slightly angsty memories. Updated.





	Eönwë's grief

From the long balcony stretching into the sky, he could see all of Valinor in front of him. From his Lord's dwelling on top of Taniquetil he looked down upon the bright cities that the Children and his kin, the Maiar, have worked to build. He saw the gardens of Yawanna, the magnificent beaches and all the things his Lords and Ladies have made, guided by the visions their Song brought into existence.

It normally filled Eönwe with pride and joy to look at the work of art that they made Valinor, but ever since he has returned from the War of Wrath a couple of weeks ago, the peace he normally felt was mingled with grief. For he could no longer live in blissful ignorance about the suffering that one of the very beings that was tasked with building a perfect, peaceful Ëa has caused. Now, sitting atop the balcony, knees drawn up to nearly his face, the pangs of grief and sorrow he felt were overwhelming.

He griefed for his fellow Maiar, whom he could not save, whom he saw perish under his command and whom he had to raise his sword against: those who were so corrupted by Melkor that there was no possible salvation for their fëa.

He griefed for the Children, who were supposed to live in a perfect world created by them, the Ainur, but never even got the chance to do so. The Ainur loved them before they even came to awaken. They worked with joy for uncountable years to build the world they saw in the visions of their song for the Children. They rejoiced at the mere thought of guiding them through life and teaching them. They toiled to make the Children a home filled with wondrous creations that they could someday look upon and marvel.

But the Ainur realized and accepted long ago that Ëa would not be as they intended, as Melkor, one of their own, has tainted and corrupted it beyond full repair. He knew Arda has been marred, but only now did he truly see the extent of their failure to give the Children the safe and wondrous home they intended.

He grieved for the countless first and secondborn who lost their lives fighting the forces of a foe far beyond their power. Most of the secondborn have never even experienced some semblance of a peaceful world and they have been robbed of the opportunity to do so by the cruel hands of Melkor.

He remembered a frightened Edain standing before a corrupted Maia's feet. He had his sword raised, and although he was trembling in fear, he bravely stood his ground and faced his enemy knowing that this fight could only end one way. Before Eönwe could do anything, the cruel Maia had swung his flaming sword at the soldier, the force of it ripping him in half. The last he saw of this brave Edain before the dark Maia obliterated his body in flames was his face as he fell lifeless to the ground. He could not have been older than twenty sun-years. A mere child, forced into a battle that began long before he was even born.

This brought forth a cascade of memories of the fallen. He remembered the faces of countless fallen Children. Some open-eyed, gazing into nothingness with horror, as though time had frozen at the moment their fëa left their bodies, some with an expression of peace on their dead faces, as if they were resting. As if they knew that in death they would finally find the rest and peace they needed, for they could not get that in their living form. Eönwe's now teas-streaked face contorted at this thought.

The Maia was in pain. His fëa ached with sharp pangs of sorrow. He hugged his knees and seemed to shrunk in on himself, as though he just wanted to disappear.

Now, looking upon Valinor from the top of Mount Taniquetil, he did not see the beauty anymore. He saw only what could have been, had Melkor not corrupted the visions, but what can never be. His heart ached for the Children as he fought to surpass a strangled sob that was threatening to escape his lips.

Suddenly he felt a gentle caress against the outer part of his fëa. It was barely anything, as light as a summer breeze. He knew who the fëa that made contact with his belonged to even before it's owner knelt down next to him. Manwë laid a hand around his herald's shoulder and sent from his fëa a gentle wave of affection and sympathy. He did, however, not enter Eönwe's fëa with these, as he knew it might want solitude at this time, but left them to barely touch his fëa, so if the Maia needed to and felt ready for it he could find relief from them.

"Your ache, young one" came the soft voice from next to him. "It pains me to see you hurting, child" said manwë, as he wrapped his arms around his Maia to comfort him. The herald instinctively leaned into his Lord's touch. He felt the pulse of his Lord's fëa soothe him a little.

"It is nothing, my lord. I will be fine." said the Maia. But he knew the Vala would not leave it at that. He felt the caring concern emit from his Lord's fëa and knew Manwë wanted to hear his thoughts.

"I have known you and had you under my care and protection from even before Ëa was" replied the Vala, with a voice more gentle than a fluffy feather touching skin, and so compassionate that the Maia could not help but bury his face into his Lord's robes to be able to be closer to him. He felt as though even his mere words could offer him relief for his aching heart. "You do not have to hide your pain from me, you know I wish to only help"

So Eönwe opened his fëa just a bit, so that all the grief he felt at the moment and flashes of memories along with feelings he could not name could be accessed by Manwë. The latter now understood the his Maia perfectly. No words were needed when communicating through the fëa, yet a perfect understanding of thoughts would occur. Such was the advantage of those who could fully access their fëa, the Ainur.

The Vala sought to comfort the distressed Maia. He drew Eönwe onto his lap and embraced him. Although his sorrow didn't dull, the Maia, enveloped by his Vala's caring, affectionate aura and touch, felt at peace. It was a strange combination of emotions: To feel miserable but loved and cared for. To feel grief and peace. To feel sorrow and affection.

Manwë let his fëa open to his Maia, so whatever relief the latter needed, he could get from his Lord with but a touch of their souls. Eönwe latched onto his Lord's fëa as if his life depended on it, with such desperation that the guarding borders of his fëa momentarily became nonexistent. At this, Manwë saw the full damage that the war has done to his beloved Maia's fëa. He saw the many dark memories and feelings, although he did not look into them, as he respected his Maiar's privacy.

To ease his Maia's pain, he begun to stroke his little one's hair while holding him close against his chest. He softly sung a song of love and comfort in an ancient language of power. He felt his little herald softly lean into him, his fëa became more at peace and he stopped shedding tears.

"Rest now little one, although joy is mingled with grief, there is still wonder in this world. You shall again be able to feel at peace."

After a few minutes, the little Maia went completely limp in his Vala's arms and fell into a deep sleep that was much needed, as corporeal forms, even when owned by a Maia, required some periods of rest at times, and Manwë knew that his herald has not been getting the rest he needed since he returned from the shores. The Vala continues to stroke the Maia's hair and decided it would be best if the little herald were sent to the gardens of Lorien for the healing he so needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope you enjoyed my work! Don't be shy to leave a comment!


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